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THE  MERMAID 

And  Other  Poems  by 

THOMAS  McKEAN 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 


Mrs.   George  Gore 


THE  MERMAID 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 

BY 

THOMAS  McKEAN 


Author  of  "The  Vortex" 


BOSTON 

RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

li,ljf  (Sorljam  JJrraa 
1907 


Copyright  1907  by  Thomas  McKean 


All  Rights  Reserved 


The  Gorham  Press,  Boston 


I   dedicate    this    little    book    of  verses    to 

NANCY  BRINLET  BISPHAM 

in  grateful  remembrance  of  her  helpful  aid 

in   preparing  them. 


NEWPORT,  1906 


922558 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

1  The  Mermaid            ....  9 

2  The  Garden  of  Eden ....  22 
I.     Adam 22 

II.     Eve 26 

3  The  Light-House      ....  33 

(Adapted  from  the  French) 

*4     To  Nancy        .....  40 

*5     Good-Nightt  Sweet   ....  41 

6  The  Message  of  the  Sea    ...  42 

7  The  True  Rondeau  ....  43 

8  Two   Verses                 ....  44 
*9     /«  //  Garden  Fair  ....  45 
in     Go/     Little  Book       ....  46 


(^Reprinted  by  kind  permission  ofj.  B.  Lippin- 
cott  &  Company,  Philadelphia.) 


The  Mermaid 


THE  MERMAID 

Out  of  the  silver  sea  a  woman's  form, 
From  crystal  depths  before  the  pearl  light  broke, 
Or  night  in  travail  bore  the  new-born  day, 
Rose  from  the  boundless  deep  in  beauty  clad, 
From  angels  or  from  devils  having  seized 
The  secret  of  the  skies,  the  earth,  the  sea, 
And  underneath  the  water  limitless. 

Within  the  confines  of  her  hidden  pool 
She  easily  with  aimless  labour  darts, 
Now  hiding  in  some  cleft,  or  diving  low 
To  sound  the  lucid  waters,  till  she  creeps 
With  laughter  light,  and  grace  of  elfin  sprite, 
Up  to  her  couch  among  the  rocks,  to  sing 
Her  songs,  sweet  music  full  of  love,  or  death 
To  those,  who  listen  and  obey  her  call. 
Grey  was  the  whispering  sea,  and  grey  the  rocks, 
And  wan  was  she,  the  while  the  moon-kissed  rays 
Were  dying,  and  she  grasped  their  silver  strands 
To  weave  a  coronal,  or  else  to  deck 
Their  glistering  brightness  on  her  supple  limbs; 
As  one  by  one  are  loosened,  these  she  seeks 
To  seize,  but  all  are  lost  within  the  depths 
Of  brine  beneath,  yet  rise  a  second  time 


9 


As  foam  that  touches  timidly  the  base 

On  which  she  lies.     The  music  of  the  spheres 

Grows  louder  as  she  sighs  her  lullaby, 

Till  thunder  greets  the  ceasing  of  Night's  pain, 

And  lazily  the  mermaid  ends  her  song 

To  watch  the  advent  of  the  tender  day. 

A  sudden  silence  rends  the  ardent  east, 

While  o'er  the  scene  a  softness  slowly  spreads 

To  kiss  the  teeming  earth,  the  sea,  the  sky, 

With  blushes,  which  dispel  the  leaden  hue, 

That  Night  had  used  before  so  lavishly. 

A  little  sigh,  an  idle  puff  of  wind, 

Now  whispers  to  the  ever-curling  waves, 

Which  ruffle  soon  the  bosom  of  the  deep, 

In  fugues  of  never-ending  cadences. 

Before  the  glow,  which  stretches  forth  on  high. 

Fast  fades  the  noble  face  of  mystic  Night, 

That  face,  which  bears  the  splendid  stamp  of  death, 

Until  within  the  twinkling  of  an  eye, 

Rides  forth  the  sun  in  majesty  of  gold. 

A  change  has  come  upon  the  prospect  new, 

And  stains  with  colours  delicate  and  soft, 

All  nature  in  sweet  hues  of  happiness, 

Till  where  a  short  time  since  dark  sadness  reigned, 

And  hearts  were  great  with  sorrow  infinite, 

Now  shines  the  eye  of  God  all  joyously 


10 


To  change  the  souls  of  all  created  things, 
To  feed,  to  calm  their  spirits  with  His  peace. 
Not  so  the  syren,  for  her  heart  is  flint; 
Her  eyes,  those  windows  of  the  living  soul, 
Are  narrowed  till  two  lines  alone  appear, 
And  coldly  gleam,  the  face  is  pallid,  set, 

And  strong  the  force  of  her  devouring  greed. 
Her  head  within  the  hollow  of  her  arm 
Is  pillowed,  and  thus  motionless  she  waits, 
Save  where  in  rhythmic  measure  slow  she  waves 
Her  scaly  tail  like  some  wild  tiger's  mate. 
Still  slower  breaks  her  evanescent  smile, 
And  cold  her  mood  like  some  volcano  sleeps, 
To  flash  in  sudden  splendour,  which  destroys, 
Then  whirls  her  victim  to  his  watery  tomb. 
In  marble  calm  she  patient  bides  her  time, 
Like  some  cold  snake  in  seeming  torpor  wrapt, 
She  waits  all  coiled  to  give  the  deadly  thrust, 
Which  drives  her  trembling  prisoner  to  his  fate. 
A  symphony  of  cruel  loveliness, 
She  sings  her  fascinating  roundelay, 
And  looks  nor  east  nor  towards  the  distant  west, 

But  bends  her  gaze  intent  on  hazy  space. 
What  are  the  thoughts  bound  in  her  stony  breast, 
What  are  the  horrid  deeds  she  plans  to  do  ? 


11 


What  needs  for  vengeance,  must  so  fair  a  shape 

Thus  harbour  malice  ?    Ask  the  moaning  waves, 

Which  cry  their  message  to  eternity, 

Or  seek  the  sphinx,  within  whose  pulseless  heart 

Is  locked  the  secrets  of  the  ages  dead, 

And  strive  to  read  the  answer  if  ye  can! 

O'er  rippling  waves  in  silence  frigid  still 

She  follows  in  its  flight  a  winged  gull, 

And  purls  half  sleepily  her  rhapsody, 

As  if  she  charmed  to  rest  some  tired  child. 

With  pauses  frequent  ever  and  anon 

She  moves  with  sensuous  grace  her  languid  frame, 

And  stretches  out  her  arms  above  her  head, 

In  passionless  desire  of  love's  delight; 
For  now  insensibly  the  hypnotic  chant 
Gains  force  as  more  intense  the  music  grows, 
And  thus  she  rests  her  cheek  upon  her  hand, 
The  while  her  elbow  pointing  towards  the  line, 
Which  marks  the  meeting-place  of  Heaven  and 

earth, 

Decries  a  sail.     Another  comes  apace, 
And  straight  expectant  grows  the  cruel  mouth, 
As  in  and  out  her  pointed  tongue,  her  lips 
Caresses;  lurid  pants  the  melody, 
And  wings  of  tiny  craft  athwart  the  deep 
Sail  yon  and  hither,  till  unlike  the  rest, 
One  drifts  apart  and  sails  away  alone. 


12 


There,  solitary  sits  a  fisherman, 

His  nerveless  hand  the  tiller  feebly  grasps, 

That  answers  only  to  the  madrigal. 

So  swiftly  runs  the  craft,  nor  heeds  the  man 
A  warning  from  his  friends,  who  shout  to  him, 
But  rushes  on  to  some  compelling  spot; 
His  looks  are  wild  and  haggard  are  his  eyes, 
Yet  once  he  turns  and  looks  despairing  back. 
Alas!  the  little  fleet  is  dimly  seen, 
And  ghostly  falls  the  picture  on  his  view, 
For  drifting  clouds  of  mist  are  blotting  out 
The  scene  of  loving  friends  and  distant  home. 
Within  a  world  of  ever  growing  white, 
With  pallid  countenance  and  staring  gaze, 
Aye  drifts  he  on,  all  distant  from  his  course, 
Bereft  of  reason  and  sweet  memory. 
Naught  hears  be  but  the  sound  of  music  sweet, 
Which  strikes  with  dull  insistence  on  his  ear, 
And  o'er  and  o'er  again  the  raucous  beat 

Marks  on  his  throbbing  heart  a  purple  wound; 
He  heeds  it  not,  the  numb  unconscious  pain, 
But  yields  himself  like  one,  who  soon  must  die, 
With  hair  all  matted  on  his  humid  brow, 
As  louder  swells  the  false  triumphant  note, 
The  mist  is  lifting  and  the  wretched  fool 


13 


Perceives  too  late  the  angry  line  of  white, 
Straight  in  his  path,  where  lo!  the  foaming  waves 
Now  crown  the  hoary  head  of  rocks  and  hide 
The  circling  waters  of  the  deadly  pool, 
Above  whose  horrid  depths  the  syren  lies. 
For  one  brief  trembling  instant  he  has  cast 
An  upward  glance,  then  all  fades  from  his  sight, 
But  in  that  glance,  he  sees  her  radiant  face, 
Framed  by  the  mass  of  pallid  sea-green  hair. 
Just  as  the  boat  upon  the  cruel  rocks 

Is  ground  to  atoms,  sudden  swift  she  bends, 
And  draws  him  senseless  up  as  hunters  snare 
Their  nets  around  the  splendid  king  of  beasts. 
Yet,  quiet  as  he  seemed  beside  her  there, 
No  motive  quivered  in  her  bird-like  look, 
Nor  glance  of  blood-warm  human  sympathy, 
For  claw-like  hands,  which  do  not  grasp  or  snatch, 
Are  inconsistent  with  the  eyes  that  gloat, 
And  pierce  his  seeming  form  inanimate. 
Now  that  he  rests  beside  her,  hers  indeed, 
What  is  her  sentiment  or  what  her  plan  ? 
Can  seer  or  sybil  filled  with  fervour  rapt 
E'en  guess  the  final  scroll  of  her  desire, 
Or  solve  the  meaning  of  her  attitude  ? 
Implacable,  immovable,  she  bides, 
Though  not  in  mood,  uncertain,  wavering, 


14 


But  rather  like  some  ancient  deity, 
Upon  whose  lofty  pleasure  patience  waits. 
With  some  rude  implement  her  hair  she  combs, 
As  warbling  low  her  Lydian  measures  sweet, 
She  heedeth  not  the  unconscious  fisher  lad. 
Poor  victim  he,  of  circumstances  rare, 
Insensible  to  words  or  bantering  look, 
A  life  suspended  in  a  woman's  power, 
Awaits  the  fiat  of  her  sleeping  word. 
A  word,  a  passing  look,  her  very  will 
Shall  summon  him  to  rapture  of  despair, 
Or  by  their  action  drive  him  to  his  death. 
What  unknown  seedling  borne  by  idle  wind 
Shall  fall  by  chance  indeed  on  fertile  ground, 
Or  natheless  hap  to  find  its  final  home 
Amid  some  rocky  soil  all  rank  with  weeds 

And  perish  wretchedly  ?     God  knows  the  life 
Of  every  living  one  and  orders  it 
According  to  His  Will.     We  fail  to  see 
The  meaning  of  His  wisdom  great  and  good, 
Oft  losing  sight  in  human  ignorance, 
Of  what  he  knoweth  best  is  for  our  need. 
Here  is  a  man  of  honest  life  and  parts, 
Encircled  firmly  by  the  wily  plots 
Of  an  enchanting  syren,  who  intends 
To  order  him  to  do  her  certain  will. 


15 


Her  presence  is  the  ground  on  which  he  sleeps, 
What  shall  the  harvest  prove  itself  to  be  ? 
Thrice  wretched  seed!  blown  hither  by  the  force 
Of  her  desire,  on  her  depends  your  goal. 
Can  love  awake  in  such  a  being's  heart, 
Or  has  she  saved  him  merely  to  destroy  ? 

If  she  all  loveless  magnetises  thus, 
And  draws  him  from  his  own  familiar  hearth, 
She  must  eradicate  the  deep-set  thought 
Of  sweet-faced  loving  wife  and  children  three, 
Before  she  can  obtain  her  power  and  end. 
One  passing  glance  into  her  cruel  eye, 
Has  killed  the  tendrils  of  his  daily  life, 
The  mind  within  his  body  is  a  blank, 
And  ripe  for  ultimate  development. 
We  cannot  tell  why  He,  who  overlooks 
Should  bring  designedly  this  guileless  soul 
Into  deliberate  danger;  for  what  end  ? 
Is  there  a  danger  lurking  ?  wait  and  see. 
A  sudden  change  came  o'er  her  reverie, 
That  bridged  the  awful  chasm  of  her  thought, 
As  eyes  are  fixed  upon  the  offing  dim, 

Where  rides  the  remnant  of  the  fisher  fleet. 
Upon  the  pinions  of  a  fitful  breeze 
The  clouded  atmosphere  is  carried  on, 


16 


Embracing  with  its  subtle  restlessness, 
The^waiting  group  of  baffled  anxious  men. 
They,  still  in  consternation  of  the  plight, 
Which  robbed  them  of  their  comrade  suddenly, 
Directed  frightened  looks  towards  the  line 
Of  his  departure,  but  they  feared  to  seek 
The  hidden  way  and  follow  in  his  wake. 
Too  well  they  knew  the  secret  of  the  maid, 
Who  dwelt  beside  the  dreaded  rocky  coast, 
And  oft  the  lengths  of  winter  nights  were  filled 
With  stories  of  her  loveliness  and  charm : 
These  tales  like  songs  of  ancient  minstrelsy 
Were  told  from  father  unto  youthful  son; 

But  horror  mingled  with  the  story  too, 

And  blood  would  freeze  within  the  youthful  veins 

Of  those,  who  listened  and  a  cry  of  fright 

Would  break  upon  the  hush,  the  bated  breath, 

Which  ever  greet  the  telling  of  such  tales. 

Oft  in  the  stillness  of  the  quiet  night, 

One  of  these  little  tender  ones  would  moan, 

And  starting,  cry  upon  its  mother's  breast, 

Mistaking  dreams  for  dim  reality. 

The  dream  was  always  of  a  maiden  fair, 

A  maiden  with  a  voice  of  velvet  soft, 

Who  smiled  and  singing  smiled  yet  once  again; 


17 


Then  sudden  came  a  change  upon  that  smile, 
And  lo!  each  child  awoke  and  sobbing  said: 
The  grinning  semblance  of  a  mask  of  death 
Had  darkly  flashed  before  his  waking  eye; 

The  fathers  laughed,  but  in  their  laughter  lurked 

The  shadow  of  a  mirthless  gayety : 

For  man  reputed  to  have  looked  upon 

The  syren's  lovely  face  had  ne'er  returned, 

But  many  a  one  had  heard  her  liquid  tones, 

And  hearing  crossed  themselves  all  piously. 

How  many  baseless  fears  in  life  are  found, 

Against  which  struggles  are  of  no  avail,  « 

And  arguments  or  reason  give  no  aid 

To  their  solution  ?     When  the  mind  is  warped, 

And  thus  is  forced  into  a  stilted  groove, 

How  can  our  human  judgment  fail  to  give 

A  nerveless  rein  to  our  presentiment  ? 

Such  fears  there  are,  which  have  no  basis  deep, 

And  just  because  they  are  unreal  and  false, 

Bring  greater  trouble  and  uneasiness. 

The  group  of  men  now  meet  in  council  grave, 
To  find  a  means,  if  possible,  to  help 
Their  vanished  comrade,  but  the  way  proved  hard 
To  seek,  for  they  feel  soon  that  God  himself 


18 


Is  far  away,  and  in  His  saving  stead, 

They,  face  to  face  with  something  must  contend, 

Which  lacks  the  touch  of  human  kindliness, 

Itself  relentless,  powerful  and  dark. 

Against  the  unknown  forces  all  unseen, 

What  armour  shall  withstand  the  arrows  sharp, 

Which  pierce  the  very  soul  and  wound  the  heart, 

Or  what  strong  shield  shall  ward  away  the  slings, 

Impelled  by  powers  themselves  invisible  ? 

More  dauntless  men  than  these  can  ne'er  be  found, 

Brave,  fertile  in  resources  all  of  them, 

Who  pray  to  God  for  guidance  in  their  need, 

Declaring  Him  their  Heavenly  Father  wise, 

Whose  counsel  must  be  sought  by  fervent  prayer, 

And  gained  alone,  in  lowly  postures  bowed 

Before  the  Throne  of  Grace,  the  Judgment  seat. 

The  murmur  of  their  agitated  words, 

By  wanton  winds  are  wafted  slowly  back, 

To  where  the  mermaid  sits  relentlessly, 

Beside  her  fallen  victim,  calm,  inert. 

A  cunning  look,  the  burden  of  the  breeze 

Imparts,  a  cruel  glance  of  subtlety, 

And  turning  with  a  sigh  of  tenderness, 

Upon  whose  tendrils  clings  a  feline  grace, 

She  seeks  to  hold  him  in  subjection  firm. 


19 


She  knows  full  well  a  touch  with  passion  fraught, 
Will  call  him  from  the  regions  cold  and  drear, 
Half-way  between  the  realm  of  Sleep  and  Death, 

Whence  he  has  slowly  drifted  by  her  will, 
Yet  once  again  to  waking  consciousness. 
Why  does  she  hesitate,  what  motive  rears 
Its  ugly  head  and  peers  between  the  web 
Of  her  desire  ?     What  hidden  silence  chokes 
The  advance  of  her  destroying  poisoned  lips, 
Which  in  a  kiss  of  deep  intensity, 
Will  bare  and  germinate  the  desert  waste 
Of  his  poor  simple  soul  ?  and  by  this  kiss 
She  finally  will  seal  him  for  her  own. 
The  fishermen  beyond  the  fragile  pale 
Of  her  dominion  know  full  well  the  force, 
The  fearful  vigour  of  her  inmost  thought; 
From  stories  too,  they  all  have  surely  learned 
Of  what  they  fear  must  be  their  comrade's  end, 
But  still  in  force  they  hope  to  win  the  strife, 

And  pushing  forward  with  concerted  strength, 

They  plan  to  storm  the  wind-swept  citadel. 

The  advance  once  started  hearts  grow  brave  and 

light, 

Till  sudden  every  man  rests  on  his  oar, 
And  listens  to  a  distant  cry  of  fear, 


20 


Which  rings  with  sadness  of  a  parting  knell, 
Upon  their  quaking  hearts;  alas!  they  know 
The  interpretation  of  that  cruel  sound, 
And  bow  their  heads  weighed  down  by  sorrow's 

yoke; 

Yet  while  they  sadly  wend  their  homeward  way, 
They  blanch  in  terror,  as  they  fainter  hear 
The  cloying  sweetness  of  her  mocking  song, 
A  song  of  love,  of  sleep  and  sudden  death, 
A  soul's  despairing  and  a  woman's  face; 
But  in  the  cadence  of  the  lay  they  read, 
As  god  the  Father  willed  from  knowledge  vast, 

The  lesson  of  his  sentence  ultimate: 
"  It  is  His  Will,"  they  cry  in  unison, 
And  comforted,  they  praise  His  Holy  Name, 
Accepting  calmly  with  their  simple  faith, 
The  strength  of  His  omnipotent  decree: — 
The  curtain  drops  and  finished  is  the  play. 


21 


In  ancient  days  before  the  world  began, 
God  spoke  in  majesty  of  power  and  might, 
And  made  the  earth  and  all  that  therein  is, 
The  lakes,  the  mountains  too,  the  land  and  sea; 
In  six  full  days  He  fashioned  it,  and  when 
His  labour  finished  was,  He  took  His  rest 
Upon  the  seventh,  looking  on  his  acts. 

He  made  the  sun  to  shine  by  day,  the  moon 

By  night,  the  waters  underneath  the  earth, 

And  all  the  treasures  in  it  made  He  too. 

The  labours  of  the  Lord  were  set  apart, 

One  act  of  great  dominion  for  each  morn, 

For,  at  the  first  the  earth  was  shapeless,  void, 

And  darkness  brooded  on  the  water's  face. 

His  spirit  moved  upon  the  deep  and  cried: — 

"  Let  there  be  light,"  and  straightway  o'er  the 

world 

A  bright  light  shone,  dividing  day  from  night; 
And  thus  was  ended  the  initial  work. 


22 


Next  God  divided  earth  from  lofty  Heaven, 
The  waters  from  the  land,  and  He  decreed, 
That  grass  should  grow  upon  the  fertile  land, 
And  lo!     He  saw  the  sight  of  all  was  good. 
He  caused  the  teeming  herb  to  put  forth  seed, 

And  budding  trees  all  great  with  luscious  fruit, 
Within  whose  essence  lies  the  seed,  were  brought 
To  fulness  in  the  smiling  meadows'  breast. 
The  restless  waters  too  were  troubled  sore, 
And  brought  forth  fish,  each  of  its  several  kind, 
Increasing  thus  according  to  His  Will: 
Out  of  his  loving  heart  created  He 
Fowls  of  the  air  and  every  living  thing, 
Creeping,  crawling,  every  moving  creature, 
Each  one  from  Mother  Earth  evolved  and  formed. 
Then  lastly,  made  He  man  in  image  like 
Unto  Himself,  to  have  dominion  o'er 
All  things  created,  male  and  female  both, 
And  food  for  all  He  did  provide  as  well. 
So,  God  the  Father  made  and  fashioned  man 
From  dust  of  earth  and  in  his  nostrils  breathed 

The  breath  of  life  to  be  a  living  soul. 
The  seventh  day  became  an  holy  one, 
And  God  almighty  blessed  and  hallowed  it, 


23 


For  on  that  day  He  rested  from  His  task. 

In  Eden  planted  God  a  garden  fair, 

With  trees  abounding  pleasant  to  the  sight, 

The  tree  of  life  itself,  of  knowledge  good 

And  evil  in  the  midst;  the  river  too, 

Which  rose  and  flowed  from  it,  a  four-fold  stream, 

God  in  the  garden  put  the  new-made  man 

To  tend  and  keep  it,  giving  of  his  care, 

And  told  him  he  might  freely  eat  the  fruit 

Of  all  the  trees  save  that  of  knowledge  of 

The  good  and  evil  of  the  world  of  man. 

*  The  penalty  for  this  malfeasance  grave, 
Or  disobedience  of  my  Will,  is  death." 

God,  walking  in  the  garden  sweet,  thus  spoke: — 
1 '  It  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone, 
And  I  shall  bring  an  help-mate  unto  thee, 
Oh!    Adam,  first  the  tiller  of  the  soil." 
A  multitude  of  cattle,  beasts  and  fowls 
He  brought  into  the  garden,  and  He  said: — 

*  These  creatures  shalt  thou  name  with  names  of 

thy 

Devising,  finding  doubtless  from  their  fold 
An  help-meet  worthy  of  thy  caliber." 
But,  from  the  motley  crew  of  winged  birds, 
Of  cattle  horned,  or  creeping  creatures,  none 
Were  so  considered  by  the  man  as  fit 


24 


To  be  a  true  companion  unto  him. 
The  Lord  on  Adam's  shoulder  placed  His  hand, 
And  straightway  fell  on  him  a  sleep  profound; 
Then  God  stretched  forth  and  deftly  took  a  rib 

From  Adam's  side,  and  swiftly  closed  the  wound, 

While  from  the  rib  He  made  a  woman  fair, 

To  be  a  sweet  companion  unto  him, 

Who  from  the  earth  had  come,  a  human  soul. 

God  took  the  perfect  form,  the  woman  made 

From  man,  and  led  her  unto  him,  then  cried 

The  husband: — "  She  shall  be  bone  of  my  bones 

And  flesh  of  my  flesh;  Eve  shall  she  be  called, 

The  universal  Mother  of  the  world, 

And  she  of  her  free  will  shall  leave  her  home 

And  cleave  to  me,  for  we  shall  be  one  flesh," 

So,  God  within  the  garden  left  them  there, 

Both  naked,  yet  in  innocence  complete, 

They,  hand  in  hand,  the  lovely  pathways  sought, 

To  dwell  therein  in  happiness  and  peace. 


25 


II 

"EvE" 

One  evening  when  the  embers  of  the  sun 

Were  dying  and  the  orange  of  the  sky 

Was  drifting  from  its  royal  purple  tint 

To  fainter  pinks,  Eve  sat  among  the  flowers, 

In  meditation,  born  of  idleness. 

It  was  a  moment  for  a  poet's  dream, 

When  hearts  are  full  of  indefinable 

Regret,  spun  of  a  subtle  gossamer 

Of  irridescent  woof,  the  rainbow  bridge, 

Upon  whose  fragile  span,  in  idle  mode, 

Our  thoughts  drive  on,  untamed  and  fugitive. 
Impressions  grow  more  trackless,  as  the  greys 
Of  night  replace  the  lengthening  shades  which  hide 
The  splendid  pageant  of  the  dying  day, 
Then  clouds  with  molten  silver  lining  hued, 
Obscure  the  tangled  webs  of  our  desire, 
And  feebly  clutch  the  heart  in  strife  to  wound 
Its  peace.     The  drowsy  murmur  of  the  bees 
Is  stilled,  and  as  the  shades  of  evening  fall, 
The  inward  tremor  of  our  deeper  thoughts 
Is  hushed  amid  the  silence  of  the  hour 
And  stays  the  unfinished  labour  of  the  mind. 
The  fretted  passion  of  the  throbbing  night 
Absorbs  the  peace  within  our  beating  hearts, 


26 


And  cheers  the  pregnant  hush  of  tenderness, 
Which  clothes  our  very  being  with  its  strength. 

A  gentle  murmuring  among  the  leaves, 
Told  to  the  untutored  woman  lying  there, 
That  those  soft  chords  of  closest  harmony, 
Played  by  the  wanton  winds  invisible, 
Announced  the  rising  of  the  silver  moon : 
The  prelude  o'er  a  ghostly  voice  then  broke 
Upon  the  sweetness  of  the  instruments, 
And  filled  the  hollows  of  the  lambent  breeze 
With  ecstasy.     A  song  of  wonderful 
Compelling  strength,  intangible  yet  tinged 
With  dire  intensity,  although  the  words 
And  meaning  were  enwrapped  in  mystery, 
Smote  on  her  spirit  with  insistent  beat, 
But  placed  no  tension  on  her  supple  mind. 
She  heard  and  listened  eagerly  until 
The  orb  of  night  poured  forth  its  mantling  rays 

Of  pearly  glow  o'er  all  the  magic  scene, 
And,  then  she  saw  the  singer  motionless; 
It  was  not  Adam,  as  she  fondly  hoped, 
But  subtlest  of  the  beasts,  the  fowls,  the  birds, 
Which  God  had  brought  into  the  confines  of 
The  garden,  there  the  serpent  stood  revealed, 
All  coiled  about  a  tree,  regarding  her. 


27 


No  word  she  spoke,  but  as  she  met  its  eye, 
The  song  was  stilled,  and  slyly  it  returned 
Her  smile,  in  plaintive  fashion,  cold,  intense. 
With  glance  of  stone  still  glassy  fixed  on  her, 
The  serpent  glided  to  her  feet;  no  fear  she  had, 
But  laughed  aloud,  when  lo!  it  slowly  spoke: — 
"  Oh!  lady  Eve,  I  fain  would  go  with  thee, 
Within  this  garden  fresh  and  green,  and  show 

The  magic  wonders  hid  within  its  space, 
Those  wonders  in  the  moon-light  best  revealed, 
Whose  knowledge  will  bring  love  and  power  divine; 
Oh!  fairest  lady,  come,  oh!  come  with  me, 
That  I  may  teach  thee  of  that  wondrous  faith, 
By  which  high  mountains  move  in  orbits  great, 
And  I  will  show  thee  too,  the  kingdoms  of 
The  earth,  and  all  the  precious  treasures  massed 
Therein.     By  lofty  power  within  me  placed, 
I'll  give  thee  certain  means  to  see  the  world 
In  all  its  phases,  bring  delight  to  thee 
And  shower  bounties  on  thy  glorious  form. 
Oh!  taste  but  for  an  instant  of  that  food, 
The  luscious  fruit,  which  in  the  centre  stands, 
And  thou  shalt  then  possess  the  splendid  world: 
The  earth  is  God's  and  all  that  therein  is, 


28 


But  thou  and  thine  shalt  surely  share  it  too.'* 
The  woman  smiled  and  marked  the  reptile  glide 
Into  the  path  of  light,  then  shyly  rose 
And  fluttered  in  its  wake.     With  trembling  steps, 
She  strove  to  follow  hesitating,  for 
She  felt  the  lack  of  logic  in  the  speech: 
Deductions  such  as  these  from  premise  false, 
Instinctively,  she  knew  should  not  affect 
Her  judgment,  but  she  did  not  have  the  force 
To  follow  her  convictions.     Questions  like 
To  these  depend  on  instinct,  quite  as  much 
As  on  intrinsic  knowledge  drawn  in  fact 
From  standards  recognised  by  all  as  such, 
And,  so  at  least,  she  paused  in  panting  fear; 
The  reptile  turned  and  scanned  her  pallid  face, 
It  noted  well  her  trembling  hands,  but  kept 

Its  gravest  glance  upon  her  eye,  and  then 

Began  to  speak: — "  Why  think  ye  God  Himself 

Created  you  and  yours  ?     What  was  His  plan, 

His  purpose  in  so  doing  ?     Is  it  right 

For  you  to  be  in  ignorance  of  what 

He  knows  is  best  ?     Ye  are  but  captives  true, 

For  you  and  Adam  are  but  creatures,  here] 

Within  this  little  world,  because  ye  will 

Not  raise  your  hand  to  grasp  the  certain  means 


29 


To  free  yourself  and  learn  your  destiny." 
The  wily  reptile  wavered,  and  Eve  paused 
In  anguish,  striving  to  deride  her  fears, 
That  made  her  stop,  in  indecision,  but 
Again  she  trembled,  as  the  thought  of  God, 
To  whom  they  owed  their  very  being  tried 
To  ensnare  the  faith  of  her  discovered  friend, 

Intruding  on  her  wayward  thoughts,  she  felt 

Herself  at  last  to  be  possessed  and  held 

By  burning  anguish.     Meanwhile  as  she  walked 

All  slowly  onward,  sudden  with  a  gasp, 

She  cast  her  eyes  upon  the  fatal  tree. 

Her  indecision  vanished,  when  the  snake 

With  ready  courtesy,  held  forth  the  fruit, 

A  rosy  apple;  this  she  took  and  held 

Against  her  breast.     The  pangs  of  conscience  were 

Appeased,  for  now  the  golden  prize  is  won, 

And  turning,  calls  she  Adam  to  her  side. 

She  holds  the  ripened  fruit  against  her  lips, 

And  smells  it  long  before  her  pearly  teeth 

Break  through  the  skin  and  hands  the  remnant'to 

Her  mate;  then  flees  away  to  hide  herself, 

With  mounting  blushes  dyed.     So  Adam  too 

In  mad  despatch,  to  some  close  bower  hies, 
For  both  were  conscious  of  their  nakedness, 


30 


And  feared  the  anger  justifiable 
Of  their  dear  Lord,  for  they  alas!  both  feared 
To  die.     But  all  too  soon  they  hear  His  voice, 
And  hide  themselves  in  terror  and  despair. 
'"Come  forth,  ye  sinful  children,"  cried  the  Lord, 

*  Ye  shall  not  die,  but  this  shall  be  your  lot. 
You,  Adam,  shall  endure  by  labour  hard, 
With  sweat  shall  ye  prepare  the  ground,  to  earn 
Your  daily  bread;  and  you,  my  Eve,  my  child, 
Why  have  you  done  this  thing?"     Eve  answered 
thus: — 

'  The  serpent  tempted  me,  and  I  did  taste 
The  fruit  of  disobedience  to  Thy  will: 
To  Adam  gave  I  too,  and  he  did  eat." 
"  List!  woman,  this  shall  be  thy  wretched  fate." 

The  Lord  began  in  sadness  infinite, 

"  In  trouble  shalt  thou  bring  forth  children,  and 

I  greatly  will  increase  thy  sorrow's  pain: 

But,  thou,  oh!  wretched  reptile,  devil  clad 

In  serpent's  form,  now  get  thee  hence,  and  go 

Upon  thy  belly  so  for  evermore. 

Ye  all  from  dust  were  made,  and  once  again 

To  dust  ye  shall  return,  and  so  I  drive 

Ye  from  this  Paradise,  for  fear  ye  eat 

The  fruit  upon  the  tree  of  life,  and  live 

For  aye."     Thus  sadly  went  the  twain  away 


31 


Into  the  world  of  pain,  and  standing  there 
A  cherubim  with  flaming  sword,  that  turns 
In  every  way,  shall  safely  keep  the  path 
Of  life,  and  sternly  halt  the  steps  of  sin. 


32 


THE  LIGHT-HOUSE 

The  wind-blown  off-shoot  of  a  parent  stem, 
Once  tendril  of  the  west-most  diadem 
Of  Brittany,  rough-hewn,  but  now  detached 
From    helpless    headlands,    which    in    sadness 

watched 

Their  wayward  child,  adrift  upon  the  deep 
And  foaming  fields;  where  lo!  the  dizzy  leap, 
From  rocky  coast  in  splendid  disarray, 
Off-clefts,  in  subtle  mode,  as  night  from  day, 
The  island  from  the  mainland;  thus  the  waif 

Goes  on  its  lonely  mission,  anchored,  safe 
From  rude  embrace  of  wanton  waves  or  winds, 
That  senses  dull,  like  wine  that  slyly  binds 
Its  helpless  victims  at  the  jewelled  feasts, 
Or  like  unto  the  sharp-fanged,  snarling  beasts, 
That  strike  with  force  their  lawful  prey  but  fail 
To  stun  them,  as  the  gaping  wound,  the  frail 
Life  blots  in  crimson  tide  upon  the  floor 
Of  tesselated  flags.     There,  on  the  shore 
The  ancient  light-house  stands,  a  smiling  sign, 
With  gleaming  face  and  steady  eye  benign, 
The  hope  of  sailors  on  the  wintry  seas, 
When  anger  whistles  in  the  lightning  breeze. 


33 


For  centuries  untold,  it  had  withstood 

The  force  of  gales,  the  winds,  in  captious  mood, 

And  still  it  rests  from  father  unto  child, 

Its  care  devised  in  sequence  undefiled. 
Throughout  the  pallid  Winter  or  the  Spring, 
The  Summer  and  the  Autumn,  passions  sing 
In  cadences,  which  never  cease;  the  bleak 
Wind   screams    and   moans,   thus    driving  white- 
pained  forth 

The  furies  of  the  waters,  sudden  then 
The  winds  sink  to  a  low-breathed  whisper,  when 
The  love-lorn  wavelets  rise  to  ecstasy, 
Attempting  conquest  of  the  powers  that  be: 
From  south,  from  east,  and  from  the  scarlet  west, 
The  winds  ran  envious,  on  chaotic  quest, 
All  aimless  in  their  wandering,  eager,  rife 
For  cruelty,  relentless  for  the  strife, 
Which  goads  them  restless  on  with  flying  heels. 
But  who  can  tell  the  loneliness,  which  steals, 
The  subtle  sense  of  desolation  drear, 

Upon  the  mind,  it  is  not  groundless  fear, 
But  horror,  that  must  be  with  strength  defeat, 
To  save  the  tottering  reason  from  escheat, 
And  so  preserve  from  budding  jeopardy, 


34 


The  guerdon  of  its  own  identity  ? 

Ah  Threader,  if  ye  chance  to  read  these  lines, 

Can'st  realise  the  trembling  heart,  that  pines 

For  loving  sympathy  of  sweet  converse 

With  those  of  flesh,  though  we  should  not  coerce 

Men,  who,  of  loneliness,  endure  the  pains, 

The  watch-dogs  of  the  ever-foaming  plains; 

But  man  exists,  who  takes  the  means  to  live, 

And  weaves  the  evil  with  the  good,  to  give 

The  best  he  has  to  his  career,  and  sifts 

The  chaff  from  sun-kissed  wheat  to  use  the  gifts 

God  gave  him,  sinking  self  into  the  shades, 

Those  flaming,  sacred,  sacrificial  glades, 

In  which  are  burnt  the  dregs  of  all  desires, 

That  stem  in  infinite  degree,  the  fires 

Which  should  so  brightly  glow  before  the  Throne 

Of  Heaven,  when  tasks  are  but  a  duty  done. 

Not  so  young  Jasper,  who  for  six  full  moons, 

Had  lived  to  aid  his  father  on  the  dunes 

And  arid  wastes  of  this  sad  island  home, 

A  shrine  of  mercy  in  a  vaulted  dome: 

His  was  the  task  to  trim  the  lamp,  the  eye 

Of  human  make,  which  saves  from  misery 

The  fortunes  of  the  toilers  of  the  deep. 

At  night  the  aged  parent  takes  his  sleep, 


35 


And  then  the  son,  who  feeds  the  fluid  oil, 
The  matter  grey,  which  crowns  his  nightly  toil, 
Thus  giveth  steady  light  unto  that  brain, 

Which  is  the  harbinger,  upon  the  main, 
To  those,  who  brave  the  terrors  of  the  sea, 
Which  heaveth  sore  impearled  all  grievously. 
Of  late  his  days  upon  the  land  were  spent, 
In  some  absorbing  interest  evident, 
Yet  Jasper's  occupation  still  shall  be 
Unto  his  father,  but  a  mystery; 
The  older  guessed  the  soft  entanglement 
Of  some  sweet  tender  maid,  as  yet  unshent, 
Whose  tendrils  delicate  upon  this  stretch 
Of  bareness,  would  droop  and  die:  the  wretch 
Who  plucks  a  tender  blossom  from  its  chaste 
And  comely  garden,  and  upon  a  waste 
Thus  plants  it  without  nurture  succulent 
For  its  support,  commits  a  crime,  and  bent 
On  pleasure  rifts  unto  those  distant  stars 

The  flaw  in  his  poor  lute,  and  thusly  bars 
The  way  to  happiness  of  love  divine, 
Of  gods  and  mortal  men  the  nectar-wine. 
Another  cause  beyond  the  father's  ken 
Lay  coiled  like  poisoned  asp,  in  tawny  fen 
About  the  soul  of  Jasper;  and  his  heart 


36 


Enchained  with  fetters,  by  a  crafty  art 

All  forged  and  fastened,  slaved  him  rabidly 

With  yearnings  girt  with  daily  ecstasy. 

One  afternoon,  when  lengthening  shadows  grew 

And  darkened  slowly,  as  the  black  bats  flew 

More  low  to  earth,  he  gave  vent  suddenly 

To  blinding  tears  of  futile  agony, 

The  blood  in  well-springs  rising  to  his  face. 

There,  stared  the  eyes  from  out  the  mottled  lace 

Of  his  complexion,  sombre  blotched  with  stains 

Amid  the  pallid  white;  his  penanced  pains 
Like  snowy  dews  of  death,  a  rosary, 
Stood  on  his  brow  in  cold  rigidity. 
Full  many  a  time  in  frenzy  wielded  he, 
Of  ruddy  flowers  from  drowsy  fields,  the  lee, 
To  brew  a  beverage,  and  lo!  the  draught 
Brought  rosy  dreams  alway,  then  loud  he  laughed 
To  think  his  life  oppressed  could  lightened  be, 
By  simple,  quiet  means  so  easily. 
But  now  the  strength  of  noxious  drugs  was  dulled, 
And  on  this  luckless  day  in  vain  he  culled 
The  seeds  of  sleep  to  plant  them  in  his  pain, 
But  woe,  alas!  his  ever-throbbing  brain 
Refused  to  yield  the  poppy  harvest  kind, 
The  magic  meadows  of  his  ghostly  mind, 
Wherein  he  wandered  led  by  golden  dreams; 


37 


Instead  he  woke  with  agonising  screams, 

O'ercome;  in  anguish  sudden  staggered  he 

Into  his  father's  presence  giddily. 

Then  passed  a  horrid  scene,  when  moments  few, 

Are  filled  with  such  deep  feeling,  that  anew 

The  frozen  tongue  cleaves  to  the  mouth-roof  fast, 

E'en  when  the  stage  is  blotted  out,  and  passed 

The  incident,  still  sobbing  at  the  roots 

Of  fear,  as  when,  as  if  upon  cleft  lutes, 

Were  there  such  croaking,  grating,  phrases  heard, 

As  those  proceeding  from  the  son,  absurd, 

Unreasonable,  and  too  ridiculous 

For  deep  consideration  serious; 

The  sign  of  minds  that  are  diseased  or  ill, 

Which  neither  balance  have  nor  conscious  will. 

The  climax  came  when  father  unto  son 

Asked  if  the  younger's  nightly  task  was  done; 

No  word  spoke  Jasper,  glaring  like  some  beast: 

So  pale  he  seemed,  a  death's  head  at  the  feast, 

That  father  stared  in  terror  at  his  child, 

And  marked  his  eye  so  bright,  his  looks  so  wild, 

That  for  a  certain  space,  he  dared  not  shift 

His  own  from  Jasper's  white-faced  glance,  nor  lift 

His  agonising  look  to  God  to  pray 

For  help.     The  wind  moaned,  rising  as  the  day 


38 


In  sudden  tension  died,  the  while  a  cry, 

A  distant  shout  for  aid  rang  out  nearby. 

An  answer  burst  forth  from  his  brazen  throat, 

And  rushed  he  to  the  ladder,  that  the  boat 

Might  see  the  beacon,  though  the  son  had  failed 

To  set  it  for  the  night,  so  it  availed 

No  succour  for  the  nonce.     Would  God  he  might 

Endure,  approach  the  dome  and  brand  the  light! 
A  second  cry,  more  urgent,  nearer,  shrill 
Broke  on  his  ear,  and  at  the  sound,  his  will 
Relaxed,  but  quickly  grasping  firmly  hold 
The  rung  below,  he  hung  suspended,  cold. 
Within  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  two  hands 
Were  tightly  clasped  about  his  neck  like  bands 
Of  steel.     Alas!  how  short  the  uneven  fight, 
As  quick-breathed,  he  endured  his  awful  plight; 
Yet  as  the  blood  surged  in  his  ears,  he  found 
His    knife,    and    struck   the    man,    now   bristled- 
crowned 

As  any  tiger,  mad,  through  mist  of  red: 
He  buried  once  the  dirk, — his  son  was  dead. 


39 


TO  NANCY 

In  tripping  measures  move  your  tiny  feet 
Caressed  by  slippers  of  a  crimson  hue; 
Curved  lips  are  parted  when  you  start  anew 
Your  dainty  dance  of  fascinating  beat. 
So,  blithesome  now,  in  innocence  complete 
You  flit  away  beneath  the  vault  of  blue, 
Where  angel  faces  e'er  will  smile  on  you 
And  kiss  your  cheek  with  happiness,  my  sweet. 

No  fairer  painting  would  I  ask  to  see, 
Which  to  a  jewelled  palace  of  the  earth 
Has  passed,  in  barter  from  some  worldly  mart, 
Than  you,  my  little  child  of  destiny, 
Who,  first  the  princess  at  the  hour  of  birth, 
Are  now  the  goaler  of  my  captive  heart. 


40 


GOOD-NIGHT,  SWEET 

With  tiny  arms  about  my  neck  thou'lt  cling, 
And  lisping  phrases  murmur  in  my  ear, 
The  while  I  bid  thee,  darling,  not  to  fear, 
For  angels  flitting  by  on  unseen  wing 
A  peaceful  rest  to  thee  will  quickly  bring; 
So  kiss  me,  for  the  magic  hour  draws  near 
When  slumber  like  a  skillful  charioteer, 
Will  guide  thee  on  thy  drowsy  journeying. 

Alas!  though  God  himself  shall  watch  o'er  thee, 

Beware  the  sandman,  when  he  comes  in  sight, 

For  eyes  grow  heavy  as  the  sand  is  run, 

Until  his  task  is  ended  craftily 

And  consciousness  is  softly  put  to  flight, .  . 

Then,  good-night,  sweet;  God  bless  my  little  one. 


41 


THE  MESSAGE  OF  THE  SEA 

Undaunted,  yearning  like  the  trackless  sea, 
We  blindly  rush  apace,  unsatisfied, 
Till  even  as  we  crest  the  wave,  we  ride 
All  face  to  face  with  brooding  misery. 
We  fail  to  recognise  our  destiny, 
Amid  the  mazes  of  desires  untried, 
Though  spirits  of  the  sea  have  loudly  cried 
Their  message  through  the  winds :  Eternity. 

Is  there  an  answer  to  the  endless  song  ? 

Then,  prithee  tell  me,  where  may  it  be  found, 

In  joy,  or  grief,  in  life,  in  death,  or  sleep  ? 

Ask  God  Himself,  Who  knowing  right  from  wrong, 

Alone  can  solve  the  riddle  of  the  sound, 

Flashed  o'er  the  foaming  meadows  of  the  deep. 


42 


THE  TRUE  RONDEAU 

The  true  rondeau  should  always  smoothly  go, 
Yet  with  design  in  its  construction  flow; 
Without  an  effort,  but  on  reason  based, 
Thoughts  not  germane  should  quickly  be  effaced, 
For,  only  thus  the  theme  will  clearly  show. 

With    ingenuity,   you    must    bestow 
The  exercise  of  care  at  first,  and  so 
Produce  like  Villon,  with  his  lively  taste, 

The  true  rondeau. 

If  you  have  written  now  ten  lines,  you  know 
The  rhythm  should  be  neither  fast  or  slow; 
Though  rules  are  made  to  be  defied,  yet  haste 
Would  spoil  the  whole,  the  singer  be  disgraced: 
So,  now  you  see,  within  the  after-glow, 

The  true  rondeau. 


43 


TWO  VERSES 

When  you  write  a  triolet, 

All  your  phrases  should  run  smoothly, 

For  you  pay  the  measures'  debt 

When  you  write  a  triolet, 

And  your  muse  should  not  forget, 

That  the  guiding  rule  is  soothly, 

When  you  write  a  triolet 

All  your  phrases  should  run   smoothly. 


Our  words,  when  first  we  come  into  the  world, 
Are  lisped,  because  our  teeth  are  young  and  new; 

Though,  when  life's  span  in  fulness  is  unfurled, 
Our  words  are  lisped,  because  our  teeth  are  few. 


44 


IN  A  GARDEN  FAIR 

I  dreamed  a  velvet  rose  enchanted  me, 
Blown  forward  by  the  tender  South  wind's  stress 
And  swept  in  its  own  blithe  unconsciousness 
Light  kisses  wrought  of  airy  phantasy 
Upon  my  cheek,  while  I  breathed  quietly, 
For  fear  the  fleeting  charm  of  its  caress, 
Like  touch  of  living  hands  now  motionless 
In  death,  should  vanish  in  eternity. 

All  roses  fade,  their  petals  one  by  one 
Will  fall  to  earth  and  dying  disappear, 
But  echoes  stay  within  the  heart,  the  cry 
Of  tiny  voices  lives  in  mine,  all  spun 
With  silver  threads  of  love;  her  voice  I  hear 
And  sudden  catch  my  baby's  laughing  eye. 


45 


GO!    LITTLE  BOOK 

Go!  little  book  into  the  haunts  of  men; 
Go!  let  the  public  judge  thee,  as  it  will. 
To  me  thou  art  a  fragment,  like  some  rill, 
Which  plashing  goes  by  fields  and  moorland  glen 
Towards  the  dark  and  distant  ending,  when 
Thus  carried  past  the  loudly  roaring  mill, 
It  swiftly  meets  the  restless  deep,  until 
Within  its  depths  'tis  lost  and  found  again. 

The  world  is  like  unto  the  striving  sea, 

Kind  if  it  nothing  costs,  and  cruel  where 

Mere  sympathy  is  craved,  relentless,  for 

Of  anger  subtle,  it  can  never  be, 

In  criticism  just  and  free  as  air: 

Go!  little  book,  I  cannot  help  thee  more. 


46 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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RECE 

MAIN  LOA 


DEC    7 

A.M. 

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ID       r 
ilia    i*^     v  Jd 


v  r,  D 

si  DESK 


1964 

P.M. 

|2|3I4!5I6 


Form  L9-32m-8,'57(.C8680s4)444 


THE 

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LOS  ANGELES 


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